Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.
Come gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess’d it; and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Ay, ay, the cords.
Ay, ay, the cords.
ay, ay, the cords.
ay, ay, the cords.
Juliet's 'O serpent heart hid with a flowering face' speech is built almost entirely of oxymorons — contradictory pairings that cancel each other out. Beautiful tyrant. Angelic fiend. Dove-feathered raven. Honourable villain. This isn't decoration. It's the form grief takes when reality has become incoherent. The person you love has done something unthinkable. Your brain cannot hold 'Romeo' and 'killer' in the same sentence, so it makes paradoxes instead. Shakespeare understood trauma before the word existed. What's remarkable is that Juliet then does something most characters in the play cannot do: she moves through the oxymorons, picks a side, and gives an explanation. 'That villain cousin would have killed my husband.' The paradox resolves into loyalty. She chooses.
Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?
Ay me, what news? Why dost you wring your hands?
ay me, what news? why dost you wring your hands?
ay me, what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?
Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone.
Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.
Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.
ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! w...
ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! we are undo
Can heaven be so envious?
Can heaven be so envious?
can heaven be so envious?
can heaven be so envious?
Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
Romeo can, Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo. Who ever would have yought it? Romeo!
romeo can, though heaven cannot. o romeo, romeo. who ever would have yought it? romeo!
romeo can, though heaven cannot. o romeo, romeo. who ever wo
What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay,
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
I am not I if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay.
If he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No.
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
What devil are you, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? Say you but Ay, And that bare vowel I shall poison more Than the death-dareing eye of cockatrice. I am not I if thbefore be such an I; Or those eyes shut that make you answer Ay. If he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No. Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
what devil are you, that dost torment me thus? thi...
what devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? this torture
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
God save the mark!—here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,
All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, God save the mark!—hbefore on his manly breast. A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood, All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
i saw the wound, i saw it with mine eyes, god save...
i saw the wound, i saw it with mine eyes, god save the mark!
O, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.
To prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.
Vile earth to earth resign; end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.
Oh, break, my heare. Poor bankrout, break at once. To prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty. Vile eareh to eareh resign; end motion hbefore, And you and Romeo press one heavy bier.
oh, break, my heare. poor bankrout, break at once....
o, break, my heart. poor bankrout, break at once. to prison,
Juliet's argument that 'banished' kills ten thousand Tybalts while Tybalt's actual death was bearable deserves unpacking. In Verona, the known world is the city. Outside the walls is exile — formless, foreign, dangerous. More importantly: dead means a funeral, a grave you can visit, a fixed point of grief. Banished means alive somewhere you cannot reach, a grief with no endpoint. Every day alive but absent is another wound. And for Juliet specifically: she cannot leave. She is thirteen, female, subject to her father's will. Romeo can travel to Mantua; she cannot follow. Banishment is a wall she cannot cross. Death, she suggests, would at least let them be together. This logic will drive her to the vault in Act 4.
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.
O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead.
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had. O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see you dead.
o tybalt, tybalt, the best friend i had. o courteo...
o tybalt, tybalt, the best friend i had. o courteous tybalt,
What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,
For who is living, if those two are gone?
What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead? My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord? Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom, For who is living, if those two are gone?
what storm is this that blows so contrary? is rome...
what storm is this that blows so contrary? is romeo slaughte
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished, Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
tybalt is gone, and romeo banished, romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
tybalt is gone, and romeo banished, romeo that kill’d him, h
O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
o god! did romeo’s hand shed tybalt’s blood?
o god! did romeo’s hand shed tybalt’s blood?
It did, it did; alas the day, it did.
It did, it did; alas the day, it did.
it did, it did; alas the day, it did.
it did, it did; alas the day, it did.
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,
Dove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.
O serpent heare, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, Dove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what you justly seem’st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst you to do in hell When you didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? Oh, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace.
o serpent heare, hid with a flowering face! did ev...
o serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! did ever dragon
There’s no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo.
Thbefore’s no trust, No faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, whbefore’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo.
thbefore’s no trust, no faith, no honesty in men. ...
there’s no trust, no faith, no honesty in men. all perjur’d,
This scene contains the Nurse at her most chaotically unhelpful — delivering the news so badly that Juliet briefly believes Romeo is dead. But there's something important in the Nurse's genuine grief for Tybalt alongside her care for Juliet. She actually loved him. She raised both Juliet and probably knew Tybalt since childhood. Her wailing 'O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had' isn't performance. The Nurse is a person with her own attachments, not just a plot device. This matters because in 3-5 she will counsel Juliet to marry Paris — not from wickedness but from a deeply practical worldview. Watch how her advice keeps being based on what's survivable, not what's right. She's a woman who has learned to accommodate reality rather than resist it.
Blister’d be thy tongue
For such a wish! He was not born to shame.
Upon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;
For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
Blister’d be your tongue For such a wish! He was not born to shame. Upon his brow shame is asham’d to sit; For ’tis a throne whbefore honour may be crown’d Sole monarch of the universal eareh. Oh, what a beast was I to chide at him!
blister’d be your tongue for such a wish! he was n...
blister’d be thy tongue for such a wish! he was not born to
Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
When I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring,
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you mistaking offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,
And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,
That murder’d me. I would forget it fain,
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.
That ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there.
Or if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank’d with other griefs,
Why follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,
Thy father or thy mother, nay or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov’d?
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,
‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.
Where is my father and my mother, Nurse?
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth your name, When I your three-hours’ wife have mangled it? But whbeforefore, villain, didst you kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring, Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you mistaking offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain, And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; whbeforefore weep I then? Some word thbefore was, worser than Tybalt’s death, That murder’d me. I would forget it fain, But Oh, it presses to my memory Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished. That ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’ Hath slain ten yousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death Was woe enough, if it had ended thbefore. Or if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, Why follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead, Thy father or your mother, nay or both, Which modern lamentation might have mov’d? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death, ‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished, Thbefore is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound. Whbefore is my father and my mother, Nurse?
shall i speak ill of him that is my husband? ah, p...
shall i speak ill of him that is my husband? ah, poor my lor
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse. Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
weeping and wailing over tybalt’s corse. will you go to them? i will bring you thither.
weeping and wailing over tybalt’s corse. will you go to them
Wash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.
He made you for a highway to my bed,
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.
Wash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment. Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d, Both you and I; for Romeo is exil’d. He made you for a highway to my bed, But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed, And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.
wash they his wounds with tears. mine shall be spe...
wash they his wounds with tears. mine shall be spent, when t
Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.
I’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.
Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo To comfort you. I wot well whbefore he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be hbefore at night. I’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.
hie to your chamber. i’ll find romeo to comfort yo...
hie to your chamber. i’ll find romeo to comfort you. i wot w
O find him, give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
O find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.
o find him, give this ring to my true knight, and bid him come to take his last farewell.
o find him, give this ring to my true knight, and bid him co
The Reckoning
This scene is Juliet's counterpart to the action of 3-1 — she has no idea what has just happened and is almost unbearably hopeful. Her opening speech is one of the most erotic in Shakespeare, a young woman openly longing for her wedding night. The Nurse's arrival shreds that anticipation in the worst possible way: first Juliet thinks Romeo is dead, then she learns Romeo killed Tybalt, and finally she learns the word that is worse than death — 'banished.' She doesn't resolve into simple grief; she moves through fury at Romeo, then defense of him, with remarkable psychological speed. The scene ends not in despair but in action: send the ring, bring him to me.
If this happened today…
Someone is waiting at home for their new partner to arrive on their first night together — they've just secretly gotten married. They're sending excited texts, straightening up the apartment, checking their phone every two minutes. Then their best friend calls and delivers news so badly that at first they think their partner is dead. Then it turns out their partner has killed their cousin. Then it turns out their partner has been exiled, not arrested. The person receiving this news goes through disbelief, rage at their partner, a rapid recalibration of who to be loyal to, and then — sends a message asking their partner to come anyway.